


Just My Type

by Anjali_Organna



Series: Modern King AU [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Humor, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjali_Organna/pseuds/Anjali_Organna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon, it turns out, is exactly like every other public-school boy Gwen’s ever met. Which is to say, he’s lovely to look at until he opens his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just My Type

The first time Gwen visits Kensington Palace, she has to fight down a strong urge to steal something. Anything. But preferably with a monogram.

It‘s so ridiculous, her being here. The ceilings are high and ornate, there is raw French silk lining the walls and she’s pretty sure most of the furniture dates back to like, 1792. She keeps flashing back to school trips to the National Portrait Gallery and wonders when the teacher will show up, touting a guidebook and scolding her to use her indoor voice.

Instead, there’s just Morgana, blithely striding through the hallways at a breakneck speed and talking a mile a minute about the project they’re working on. In the three months they’ve known each other, Gwen has realized that Morgana does all her best thinking on her feet, and that walking and talking is the other girl’s way of processing information. Gwen guesses that it comes from growing up around Uther Pendragon. The King of England is reputed to never stay in one place for very long.

“…And I know Winslow said that just a paper is fine but I still think some sort of visual component would be good. Besides, papers are boring and ohhh, what if we did a magazine mock-up—Gwen?” She turns around, puzzled. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I just…” Gwen trails off, looking around at her surroundings.

“Oh, yeah. I can give you a tour later, if you want.” Morgana waves off several centuries of history with a careless hand and charges forward again. Gwen scrambles to keep up, rubbernecking all the way.

Morgana’s bedroom is no less ornate than the rest of the place. There’s a surfeit of purple velvet and blue silk that probably should look ostentatious but doesn’t, somehow. Morgana’s bed is huge and canopied and Morgana flops down, beckoning to Gwen to join her. Gwen does, and sinks into the most comfortable mattress she’s ever encountered in her life.

“Oh, my god,” she says, lying back with a sigh. “How do you even get _up_ in the morning?”

Morgana grins at her, amused, and starts spreading out their notes.

*

They’d met during the discussion section of their English survey course, bonding over mutual disdain of some girl’s fairy theories about _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. Morgana had made some sharply worded comments shredding Sophia’s arguments, and Gwen had concurred, providing essential back-up, and from this small academic victory a friendship was tentatively formed.

Gwen had known, of course, who Morgana was, but figured the other girl got enough prying questions and insincere deference, and opted instead to ignore the issue entirely, which Morgana welcomed gratefully. For her part, Morgana never referenced her background, save for eye rolling mentions of “my idiot brother” or the names of high-ranking people with whom Uther might be dealing. Gwen started to read the newspaper a little more closely, just so she’d understand these oblique references, but didn’t push.

*

When Gwen meets Uther, he is courteous but brief, pressing her hand warmly, saying “Any friend of Morgana’s,” and moving on to the next person. Gwen’s star-struck, and Morgana’s livid.

“He could at least have looked you in the _eye_ ,” she snarls, drawing Gwen back from the crush of people and crumpling her napkin in her fist.

“The King of England just shook my hand,” Gwen says wonderingly, still staring after the tall, imposing figure, glad-handing and backslapping his way through the crowd. “Oh my word. Is that the Prime Minister? Can I meet him?”

“No,” Morgana says repressively. “He’s totally handsy. You’d be traumatized.”

“Really?” Gwen says, dismayed. “But I voted for him!”

“That’s what you get for voting Labour,” Morgana says, and Gwen blows a raspberry at her.

*

Arthur Pendragon, it turns out, is exactly like every other public-school boy Gwen’s ever met. Which is to say, he’s lovely to look at until he opens his mouth.

Gwen suspects that if she weren’t so close to Morgana, he’d act a little more circumspectly around her and not like such a giant prat. As it is, he can never seem to stop snarking at Morgana, and she at him. Although she suspects that both Morgana and Arthur rather enjoy their bickering.

“Oh, they totally enjoy it,” says Merlin, who is Arthur’s—well, Gwen’s not exactly sure what it is Merlin does for Arthur, especially considering that he looks to be about the same age. Valet? Personal assistant? Arthur’s _person,_ she decides, until she can figure it out. “It drives everyone else nuts.”

“Do they ever stop?” Gwen asks, trying not to notice Merlin’s cheekbones.

“Nope,” Merlin says cheerfully, grinning at her, and she can’t help but grin back, her face heating up.

 _Arthur_ might be a prat, but _Merlin_ is brilliant, and he, Morgana and Gwen end up hanging out quite a bit. She finds an easy sort of companionship with Merlin that is not possible with the high-strung Morgana, and they share fish-out-of-water stories as they get shoehorned into attending various fundraisers or dinners to keep Morgana or Arthur company. One night, she gets a little drunk and kisses him, and he’s incredibly nice, if incredibly apologetic about it, and after that they settle into a solid friendship.

When she does see Arthur, she’s content to let Morgana or Merlin handle him. But every once in a while, he’ll do or say something completely insensitive and she’ll snap at him, and then she spends the next half an hour totally mortified that she just yelled at the future King of England.

The first time it had happens, he’s shocked into silence. She apologizes and flees, and then avoids Morgana for the next week until the latter, fed up, tracks Gwen down and demands to know what is going on. When Gwen explains, Morgana sniffs, tells Gwen that _she’s_ been yelling at Arthur since she was six years old, and Gwen really had better get used to scolding him because lord knew Arthur needed it.

“Just think,” Morgana says. “You’re practically doing the country a service. People who yell at Arthur are really only just contributing to his improvement as a human being. He’d make a terrible king if there was no one around to call him on his rubbish.”

Merlin, when consulted, agrees with Morgana. “I call him a prat all the time,” he says, “and I’m still here. I think he secretly likes being abused.”

“You don’t believe that,” Gwen protests.

“No,” Merlin says. “But he _can_ be an enormous git and he knows it.”

“But you and Morgana both know him,” Gwen says despairingly. “I’m just some random person.”

“Gwen, believe me, if Arthur thought you were overstepping your bounds, he would have said so,” Merlin says firmly. “He’s not a stupid guy, underneath it all. He respects people who disagree with him, when they have the right of it.”

Gwen sighs, somewhat mollified. “Well, if you say so.” She smirks a little at Merlin. “Let’s see what tune you’re singing the next time he threatens to sack you.”

Merlin shrugs, smirking back. “He can’t actually sack me at this point; I’m impervious.”

*

At the beginning of their final year at uni, Merlin introduces her to Lancelot. “He’s ridiculously nice, you’re ridiculously nice, I thought you could be ridiculously nice together,” Merlin says, and she makes a face at him but goes on the date anyways, because Merlin showed her a picture of Lancelot that he’d snapped surreptitiously on his phone and she’s only human.

And Lancelot _is_ nice, and attentive, and basically the most perfect boyfriend ever, if a little _too_ accommodating. And he never yells or snaps at her and is always so apologetic when he gets it wrong.

“Why are you complaining, exactly?” Morgana asks, stealing a bite of Gwen’s ice-cream sundae. “He’s the ideal boy. If I could only get Cenred to be _half_ as attentive as Lancelot is…”

“I don’t know why you’re bothering with that bloke,” Gwen says disapprovingly, moving her sundae out of reach. She doesn’t want Morgana to take the cherry. “You _know_ his reputation.”

“You know _my_ reputation,” Morgana replies, giving her spoon a rather obscene lick.

“Poor Merlin,” Gwen says sadly. “I think you’ve ruined him for all women.”

“Merlin has more spine than he lets on,” Morgana says musingly. “You’d be surprised. Anyways. Back to Lancelot and his utter perfection bugging you how?”

“It’s stupid. But there’s no…spark, anymore. He’s so nice, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but sometimes I just want to be challenged on something. Or disagree about something, or just…” she trails off, sighing. “I think we’re too much alike, if that makes any sense. We’re both so utterly predictable to each other now; I can’t remember the last time he ever did anything that really surprised me.”

“Mmm. You might have something there,” Morgana says thoughtfully. “I mean, you are freakishly similar. But mightn’t it just be a case of the one-year itch?”

“I suppose,” Gwen says, but she’s not entirely convinced it’s just that.

Morgana shrugs. “We’re nearly done with uni. Maybe graduation is time for a fresh start?”

Gwen nods slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

*

Gwen breaks up with Lancelot and Morgana breaks up with Cenred, and something mysterious happens with Freya that Merlin won’t talk about, so the three of them are back to being single. After graduation, Gwen gets a job with a non-profit real estate company that develops affordable housing, and Morgana throws herself whole-heartedly into various charitable organizations, directing the Royal Family’s philanthropy and community outreach. She also begins to live up to her reputation as London’s “It” Girl, dating a string of pretty, if vapid boys. She attends parties and premieres and all sorts of red carpet events that Gwen has no interest in, and sends Gwen and Merlin scandalous text messages from various bathrooms about who’s doing what, and with whom.

Then Morgana meets Leon, and much to everyone’s astonishment, settles down into a comfortable, quiet relationship. Well, at least as quiet as a rock star and a member of the Royal Family can manage.

Gwen observes wistfully that the two balance each other out in ways neither of them anticipated needing. Leon calms Morgana, centers her. For her part, Morgana’s incessant energy lifts Leon’s otherwise grave persona; a month into their relationship, he actually laughs in a video interview with _Rolling Stone_ , and Gwen hears later that the clip goes viral.

She thinks to herself that she needs to meet new people, broaden her horizons a little. Be willing to take a few risks.

“I always assumed I should just look for someone with a similar temperament,” Gwen says to Merlin one day. “I’ve basically spent my entire life thinking I should do what my parents did: they were perfect for each other; and exactly alike. I always thought that was what I needed.”

He blinks at her for a moment, probably because they’d just been discussing Chelsea’s prospects for the upcoming season and he has no idea what she’s talking about, but then says gamely, “Well, where’s the fun in dating yourself?”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like you need to meet new people.”

“Mmhmm,” she says agreeably.

“So you’ll be up for attending the party on Saturday?”

“Surrr—what? No. That’s not what I meant!”

Merlin grins. “But you just said you wanted to meet new people.”

She scowls. “Arthur Pendragon’s snotty uni friends are _not_ who I had in mind.”

“But they _would_ be markedly different from you,” he points out, still grinning.

She throws a pillow at him. “Not in any good way.”

“Now who’s being snobby?” He laughs at the face she makes, and then adds, “You like Arthur, you’ve said it yourself. And Morgana and Leon will be there. It won’t be all bad. Besides, you never know when you’re going to meet the people who will change your life.”

“You sound like some sort of inspirational poster,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes.

“You’ll go?”

“Oh, all right.” She huffs out a breath in mocking exasperation. It’s just one night, and it’s not like she has anything better to do. One night of Arthur Pendragon and his friends can’t _possibly_ be so terrible.

*

Gwen’s perched on a couch in one of the endless rooms in Clarence House. She can hear the clink of ice in glass and laughter, spilling out from one of the larger entertaining rooms. She’d left Merlin in the clutches of a determined looking girl with deep red hair and a dress with a truly impressive slit up the side, cheerfully ignoring his panicked look and wandering away to a quieter area of Arthur’s apartments. Parties like this, filled with beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes and eating beautiful food, quickly tire her out, and she always ends up with a horror of small talk for days afterwards.

“What’s a pretty girl like you sitting all by her lonesome with a nearly empty glass?”

Gwen looks around in time to see a man with dark hair falling into his eyes drop down in the seat next to her. His eyes crinkle up at the corners and his grin is mischievous, and without even meaning to, Gwen finds herself grinning back.

“Tell me, do those lines _ever_ work?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. I admit, that was a particularly weak attempt on my part. I apologize.”

She chuckles. “There’s no need.”

He shakes his head earnestly. “No, no. For a girl as beautiful as you, I should have tried better.”

Gwen laughs outright. “That’s even worse, you know.”

His smile flashes again, wide open and knowing. “Oh, I could keep going all night, you’ve no idea.”

“I think I can imagine.”

“I’m Gwaine,” he says, offering a hand.

“Guinevere.”

“Guinevere? That’s a pretty name, for a pretty—” He cuts off at her raised eyebrow. “Sorry. Can’t help myself. So, tell me, what are you doing back here?”

“Hiding,” Gwen replies truthfully.

He quirks his eyebrows. “From what? Oooh, I hope it’s something scandalous. Let me guess: You’re the mysterious girl Percival was having an affair with, and now you’re avoiding the wrath of his girlfriend.”

She shakes her head, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.

“Okay, okay. You’re the girl _Lady Eleanor_ was having an affair with, and you’re hiding from the wrath of _her_ husband.”

“Wrong again.”

“Really?” he asks, disappointed. “No affairs at all?”

“Sorry.”

“Hmmm. I suppose you don’t really look like the type of girl who’d be someone’s mistress.”

“Is there a type of girl who does look like that?”

That grin flashes again. “If I said yes, you’d get upset on behalf of all womanhood, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Gwen answers primly, and is pleased with herself when he laughs.

“All right. You’re hiding because a lot of these people can be dreadful bores, and you’re sick of talking about whether or not you’re going to Ascot this season.”

“Wow. You didn’t mince any words there,” Gwen says, impressed.

Gwaine shrugs. “I’ve known them all a long time. And _I’m_ no longer allowed at Ascot.”

“I don’t dare ask why.”

“Hmm. We’d need to be a few more drinks in to tell that story,” Gwaine says, eyeing his own mostly empty glass speculatively. “So who are you here with? You can’t be someone from Cambridge; I’d have remembered a face like yours.” He grins again at her rolled eyes. “Sorry again.”

“I went to St. Andrews with Morgana,” Gwen replies. “I know Arthur through her.”

“Ah, the indomitable Morgana,” Gwaine says with relish. “I tried to woo her once, but alas, she would not have me.”

“Woo her?” Gwen repeats, a little amused. “Who even says that anymore?”

“Showboats like Gwaine,” says a cool voice from out of nowhere. Gwen glances up, startled.

Arthur Pendragon is standing in the doorway, cupping a glass of some dark colored liquor and looking at Gwaine with an inscrutable expression.

“You are just as much of a show-off as I am,” Gwaine says good-naturedly. “Where’d you think I learnt it?”

Arthur raises his brows, before saying crisply, “Speaking of Morgana. If she catches wind of you trying to pull Gwen, she’ll have your head.”

Gawain grins again, impishly. “We wouldn’t want that,” he agrees, standing in one lithe movement, then takes Gwen’s hand and bows elaborately over it. “Gwen, it was truly my pleasure, but Morgana scares me.”

She nods back at him, unable to keep her own face straight. “I promise not to tell her.”

He winks at her, leaving the room, and she shakes her head, still smiling.

“I didn’t think Gwaine would be your type,” Arthur says, regarding her over the rim of his glass. He’s leaning against the doorframe, one hand shoved casually in his pocket. The low light from the lamps placed around the room plays across the oxford shirt that stretches over his broad chest and burnishes his hair a dark gold.

Gwen shrugs. “It was a three-minute conversation. It’s hard for me to tell if someone’s ‘my type’ just from that.”

He just looks at her for a moment, and then smiles ruefully. “Fair point.” There’s a pause as he regards his drink thoughtfully. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her eyes fly up to meet his. “What do you mean?”

He lifts one shoulder. “You don’t normally come to these sorts of things unless Morgana forces you. And Leon’s here, so I know she didn’t need the company.”

“Merlin,” Gwen supplies, and Arthur nods in understanding.

“Where is Merlin?” he says. “He’s not doing a terribly good job of keeping you company.”

“Clarice Orsini had him backed into a corner last I checked.”

Arthur gives a bark of laughter. “Oh dear. He’s utterly unqualified to deal with her.”

“Should I go rescue him?”

“Nah,” he says, waving a casual hand. “It’ll be good for him.” Gwen watches as Arthur wanders across the room and settles on the far end of the couch.

“Morgana says Merlin has more backbone than we give him credit for,” she says, flipping off one shoe and tucking it underneath her body as she shifts to face him more fully.

He scowls a little at that. “I still can’t believe none of you told me about that until months afterward.”

“I didn’t know until the very end,” she protests. “And then it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs. “You couldn’t have stayed friends with Morgana for this long if you didn’t like to indulge in a good gossip now and then. Not even you, Guinevere, are entirely free from the baser human emotions.”

Gwen opens her mouth to object and then notices that there’s a hint of a teasing smirk hovering around his lips. She narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I’m not,” she says. “Just because _you’re_ not around to see it...”

The smirk becomes decidedly more pronounced, and he opens his eyes wide in mock amazement. “I do believe that is a challenge! Please, enlighten me. I’m dying to know all the dirty thoughts that go through Gwen Leodegrance’s head on a daily basis.”

“I don’t want to be held responsible for your corruption,” she says. “Just think what everyone would say.”

“Hold on.” He taps one finger against his temple. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I do remember a particularly filthy thing you told me that night Morgana and Leon hooked up.” Arthur’s eyes sparkle wickedly, and she has to laugh at his expression.

“That was not my fault,” she asserts. “I’d had hardly anything to eat all day, and a rather lot of champagne. Black tie events always make me nervous. I lost my filter.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe you have a filter. You’ve always told me what you think of me. Granted, the first couple of times, you immediately tried to take it back, but still. No,” he says, frowning thoughtfully, “it’s not the same thing as a filter, not exactly. Merely an inability to not tell people what they need to hear.”

Arthur’s staring at her intently, and she can feel heat moving up her throat under his close scrutiny. “Actually, it’s only you,” she says, somewhat apologetically. “I’m perfectly socially acceptable around other people.”

“Hmm,” he says. “So what you’re _really_ saying is that I make you lose control.” He waggles his eyebrows and she laughs again. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s flirting— _flirting!_ —with the future King of England, but the face he’s currently making is too ridiculous for her to take him seriously at anything.

“Now who’s taking cues from Gwaine?” she asks lightly, still smiling widely.

“Ah, Gwaine. He’ll be the death of us all one day,” he says, shaking his head again. “Unfortunately, he knows too many scandalous stories about me so I can’t risk banishing him to Australia or something. Would have to be somewhere without internet.”

“You forget. I know Merlin, and Morgana. I know all the stories.”

Arthur groans. “Oh, _unfair.”_

Gwen leans forward with a smirk. “Actually, I have to admit I’m a little disappointed in you, Arthur.”

He looks at her quizzically. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Gwen says, lowering her voice. “All the stories I’ve heard about you are…how shall I say it?” She pauses for effect, pretending to think it over. Frowning in worried concentration, Arthur leans forward to hear her.

“Vanilla.”

His mouth drops open. “Vanilla?” he yelps, making an appalled face. In that moment, it is obvious that Arthur Pendragon is reevaluating all his life decisions with horror.

She dissolves into giggles, clapping one hand over her mouth. “I’m just kidding, I swear! I never heard any stories.”

Arthur gasps theatrically. “You are _mean!”_

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, still giggling helplessly. “But your face…”

“My face?” he repeats indignantly. “What about my face, it’s a nice face! Everyone says so.” Which of course just makes Gwen laugh harder. Arthur watches her, grinning.

When her laughter finally subsides, he says quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever made you laugh like that before.”

“Oh,” Gwen says, taken aback.

“I liked being able to do that. I’d like to do that more.” Though his face is still smiling, Arthur’s eyes have gone dark and serious. Gwen finds herself locked in his gaze, and suddenly unable to look away. Her lips part to take a breath, and his eyes drop down momentarily to her mouth. Gwen inhales, shakily.

And it’s like her inhalation draws him closer, because he leans forward, closing the gap between them and then he’s kissing her. Arthur Pendragon is _kissing her,_ and that’s Gwen’s last coherent thought for a while.

At first, it’s gentle and tentative, just lips meeting. Then one of them moves, tilts a head, and there’s a rush of tongues, probing and sliding. Gwen nips at his bottom lip and Arthur exhales noisily, bringing one hand up to twist in her hair. He cups his other hand under her jaw, running a thumb down the column of her neck to rest, lightly, on her collarbone. He slides his hand out of her hair and down her shoulder, down her ribcage (and when his palm brushes the side of her breast, a bolt of heat goes shooting straight through Gwen to pool somewhere low in her belly) to plant on the couch behind her hipbone. They lean together, Gwen backwards on her elbows, Arthur forward onto his knees before he covers her body with his own.

The door is wide open, Gwen thinks vaguely to herself, smoothing her hands down his broad back. Anyone could walk by, anyone could _see,_ but then Arthur settles more deeply between her thighs and she stops caring about the door and focuses on other things. Like his mouth, trailing a string of kisses down her neck. Like her hands, fitting over his bum. Like his cock, hard along the inside of her thigh. Gwen gulps, and tries not to drown in sensation.

When they finally break apart, breathing hard, Arthur’s got this look on his face, as though he’s never seen her before. Gwen doesn’t need to be told that her own expression mirrors it.

“Uh,” he says, looking down at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“I take it back,” she says breathlessly.

“What?”

“Not vanilla at all,” she grins, and he throws back his head in startled laughter.

“Gwen, I really wish you wouldn’t just leave—oh god, my eyes!” Merlin wheels back out of the room as quickly as he’d entered it. Gwen flails and Arthur rolls off the couch, landing on the floor with a grunt.

“I’m sorry,” she exclaims, sitting up and adjusting her clothing hurriedly.

“It’s fine,” Arthur says, massaging an elbow tenderly and glaring at the door. “You can come in, Merlin.”

“Is it safe?” comes Merlin’s plaintive voice.

“I wouldn’t have said so otherwise,” Arthur snaps.

“Don’t get snappish,” Merlin retorts, carefully reentering the room with one hand held over his eyes, fingers cracked cautiously. “You’re the ones who were…who were…engaging in scandalous behavior!”

“‘Scandalous behavior?’ _Really,_ Merlin?” Arthur’s tone is utterly withering, and Gwen can’t help smirking a little.

Seeing that it is safe, Merlin removes his hand from in front of his face and puts both fists on his hips. “Well, you _were,_ Arthur.”

“Oh, shut up—” Arthur begins, but he’s cut off by the arrival of Morgana, breezing in.

“Gwen! There you are! Come with me, I want to introduce you to…” she trails off, noting, presumably, Merlin’s combative stance and Arthur and Gwen’s rumpled clothing. “What’s going on?”

“Arthur was snogging Gwen,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur accusingly and ignoring Gwen’s indignant squeak.

Morgana’s eyes narrow dangerously on Arthur. _“Really?”_

He flushes pink and glares at Merlin. “We’re going to have words later, Merlin.” The latter looks determinedly unbowed.

“Arthur,” Morgana says coolly. “What have I told you about taking advantage of my friends?”

“I didn’t—” he starts.

“You know,” Gwen interrupts acidly. “Much as I appreciate your concern, I am _perfectly capable_ of choosing whom I get to snog. And I _chose_ to snog _him.”_ She stalks over to Arthur, pulls his head down, and kisses him firmly, being sure to slip in a bit of tongue, just for show. When she lets go, she’s pleased to see that Arthur looks a little dazed. Merlin’s eyebrows are glued to his forehead, and Morgana’s smirking.

 _“So there,”_ Gwen snarls at them, and marches out.

Behind her, Gwen can hear Morgana start to laugh. “Well. That settles that, apparently.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says. “Earth to Arthur!”

“Leave him, Merlin,” Morgana says. “He’s going to need a moment.”

“Understandable. That was a hell of a kiss.”

Someone coughs, and then Arthur says, “Trust me: you have _no idea.”_

Gwen grins, and goes in search of a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm impervious" was shamelessly stolen from The West Wing.


End file.
